BIG WALK III

The other day me and Gooseberry sat down to try playing Big Walk together. She mentioned wanting to try controlling it like I do, so I put her on the Switch2 in tabletop mode right next to me on the computer and we gave it a go. I think hearing her giggle, then it being picked up by the switch 2, then piped back through the computer speakers, and back around to create an echo chamber might be one of the best (if overwhelming) sounds you can get. I eventually muted the PC, but not for a long while.

I often ask myself when watching Goose "what makes controlling an avatar feel natural?"--I've got multiple literal decades doing this at this point, across an I don't-even-know-how-many types of input method, and I don't really recall learning how to bridge the basic gaps between eyes and fingers and buttons, or even really how to use a mouse--altho I must have given my memories of our first computers, our first games, our first internet connection. I guess the interface was not nearly as important to me as the doing--the pizza delivery on Lego Island, the building paths for Junk Bot^[1], the high scores in Space Cadet, the petpets of Neopets, and the text effects you could add when speaking in Runescape all stand out as distinct memories. Outside of the fact I remember never being able to catch the Brickster, I don't recall skill being a barrier. As an adult, my kid's skill could be seen as a barrier if you forget what's important. The mouse is immensely more natural to her vs the right stick for looking, but she's still navigating in nauseating and absurd ways because it is far more important to check what the bigwalkcreature's noodly legs are doing than to actually get anywhere, and giggling tends to be a whole-body experience. She occasionally seems vaguely frustrated when she's trying to finetune pointing to interact with an object or when her mouse reaches the end of her surface, but on the whole it seems incredibly unimportant to her vs the Joy of Being a Big Walk Pal^[2]. She is walking, she is sitting, she is picking me up, she is jumping off a cliff or sliding down a slope or just standing there giggling uncontrollably, playing Big Walk.

I think we played for at least 45 minutes and the lion's share of the time was spent slowly meandering over to the paint booth, where we proceeded to paint each other in every paint combo we could imagine 'till I had to start cooking suppper, much to her disappointment. Next time she may remember there are weird red gourdthings to collect. Or maybe we'll just paint again, or goof off in the ocean or wander in circles--playing Big Walk is what's important, not progressing Big Walk.